Late Night Revelations
by The Lincoln Imp
Summary: During a swinging party at the Briefs' house, Yamaha finds himself in the garden and seeing something he REALLY didn't want to. This is not a Yamaha bashing story, i always kinda liked the guy.


this is just a little one shot that I've had rattaling around inside my head for a while. please add any reviews and criticism, its throughly welcome. thank you for reading.

i own none of the rights.

He stood in the dark, half hidden in the spherical shadow cast by the main house. Music swirled in the night air around him, softened and distorted by the flapping gazebo doors as it passed through them on its journey into the expansive garden. Yamcha clutched his half empty bottle of beer as he watched the two dark figures slink a little deeper into the night together. The dancing lights shining on the inside of the tent, where the party was still in full swing, were just bright enough to reveal the identities of the wayward couple. Even if it had been pitch black, he would have been able to recognise that shock of bright blue hair anywhere. She never had been one for subtly.

So, he thought sourly, they're fucking. Her and him, that jumped-up, no-good, prince of all two Saiyans left in the universe. Two and a half if you counted Gohan, which personally Yamcha didn't. He should have realised sooner that this was going on. He should have noticed it from the moment he'd arrived at this extravagant party the Breifs had thrown. The looks he'd noticed passing between them that evening, across the heads of their reviling friends, had been so heated they'd practically _sizzled._ It was a wonder the tent hadn't caught fire.

He had known in the back of his head that whatever it was between them had been building up, he'd watched them meet, he'd watched it start. He wasn't blind. A bit of a goof at times maybe and his judgment on most social situations could be described as laughable at best, but he wasn't stupid. Not when it came to her anyway.

It was just he'd never expected her to actually go through with it. Even after they had ended things all those months ago, after she had told him about the dream where Vegeta had kissed her, the thought of her going _there_ had never crossed his mind. It had seemed too wrong to really happen. It was difficult enough to swallow the fact that this evil, alien being, that had come to Earth with the intent of killing them all, had been invited to stay with her in the first place. But this? This was almost more than Yamcha could handle in his half drunk state.

Ok, maybe he was being more bitter towards the whole situation than he ought to be. It had been a long while since the split after all, but Yamcha felt he had the right to be more than just a little hurt, purely because it was _Vageta_ she had chosen. That fact would always make his teeth grind together. The man was the reason he had DIED after all. Knowing it was Vegeta embracing her in the dark while he watched from the side-lines felt alot like being kicked in the teeth by a footballer wearing steal capped boots. Why did it have to be him? 7 billion people on the planet and she chooses someone not even from it. Typical Bulma.

It flashed through his mind briefly that maybe this had been going on much, much longer than he had realised. Maybe Vegeta was the reason they had split up in the first place. But he brushed the idea aside as soon as the thought had been formed. Bulma was far too stubborn with her morals to do anything like that to him. No they had broken up because of themselves. They had just changed too much form the children they had been when they first met. Although he had agreed whole heartedly and been thinking of breaking things off for a while, months of a cold, empty bed and the absences of everything that was _her_ from his life had made him thoroughly regret his words that day.

Tonight had been the first time he had seen her in a long time. Longer than they had willingly ever spent apart before. But the way they had embraced when they saw each other again, the way her smile had shone and her eyes had danced had given him hope that maybe she still loved him. The way those silhouettes now moved even closer together in the darkness, made him think that he had been mistaken.

But was he though? Maybe there still was love there, just not the kind they used to have. Maybe he was getting his feelings for her all muddled and confused. He did love her. He would always love her. Even when he was literally dead he had still loved her. But, like the two of them, their love had changed and grown. He realised the reason they had broken up in the first place was because they didn't love each other in _that way_ anymore. It explained why he had been pining for her all this time. Not because he wanted to get back together with her, not really. They had both known that towards the end it had just not been working. But because he had simply missed her. She wasn't his lover anymore, hadn't been for a long time – but from the very first moment she had bumped into the Scared Bandit she had been his best friend.

With the new realisation that he could now have her back in his life, forever, as his best friend once again, Yamcha finished the rest of his drink in one long gulp, a lot happier with himself than he had been when he'd opened it and made his way swiftly back to the festivities, leaving the shadows fumbling in the garden to themselves. It wasn't his business after all. She was more than smart enough to make her own decisions.

The party has slowed down slightly by the time he got back inside. The DJ was playing some soppy, slow-dancy number that had Mrs Breifs melted against her husband's chest with a dreamy look on her face. Dr Briefs on the other hand seemed to be simultaneously trying to keep his own balance while supporting the limp weight of his swaying wife. The red cheeks glowing above a ruffled moustache suggested that he had had just a little too much scotch to be participating in any kind of coordinated movement. But he had always been a man that would rather suffer than see his wife left wanting for anything.

Yamcha thought to himself as he skirted around the dancefloor that he would ask Bulma to dance with him later, once the party kicked up again though, not to this ballady crap. As mature as his latest epiphany had been, he didn't think he was ready to take slow dancing with Bulma. Not just yet anyway.

He found a giggling and scarlet faced Krillen hiccupping by the bar with Oolong. After placing fresh drinks in both of their hands, Yanmcha settled down in-between the two with a genuine smile on his face and, starting from tonight prepared to live a happy rest of his life, hopefully one with a certain blue haired brainiac in it.

The End.


End file.
